


Training Wheels

by albertblithe (Gabbaroni)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cute boys, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, but i just wanted to put that out there, i don't really feel bad about it tho, it's not said by anybody in the story and it's not in any actual dialogue, typical fandom abuse of Cobb, warning for f slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabbaroni/pseuds/albertblithe
Summary: George has taught five brats how to ride a bike. Today, he teaches a sixth.





	Training Wheels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aces_low](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces_low/gifts).



> Ally wanted luztoye and I was happy to oblige her. What is it with me and putting George in backwards baseball caps?

George likes to paint the scene. It’s late September, mid-afternoon, in the middle of the street in front of the Luz family home. He’s wearing his white baseball t-shirt with the dark green sleeves, the blue jeans with only one hole in the knee, black sneakers, and a backwards baseball cap. He knows Joe likes the way it makes his hair flick out around his ears when it’s too long like it is now. 

Joe is wearing his black sweatshirt and Luz’s favorite pair of jeans, the ones that make his ass look stellar. He’s got on his favorite pair of sneakers. He’s worn them everyday since like, April, and they’re starting to fall apart at the soles. 

Joe is currently lying flat on his back on the asphalt, his arms spread wide to lament his tortures to the universe. This is a thing George wants to remember. 

“How the fuck,” he starts, looking up into the cloudless sky, “am I supposed to balance all of my weight on two wheels only an inch wide?” 

George is lapping in wide circles around him and the fallen bicycle on his skateboard, “I promise it’s not as hard as you’re making it.”

Joe groans and brings up one hand to drag across his face, “Can we quit?” Jesus, George is pretty sure he’s rubbing off on him. He circles closer and scrapes to a halt by Joe’s side. 

Kicking his skateboard into his hand, he stands over Joe and says, “Come on, Jesse lost his training wheels when he was like 7.”

“That’s helpful, thanks.”

“I know.” George offers his free hand, “Come on, up and at ‘em.”

Groaning again, Joe lets himself be hoisted up. He grabs the bike and swings a leg over it, balancing on his toes and gripping the handlebars just a little too tight to pull off casual. George kicks his skateboard into the ditch in front of his lawn and walks to Joe’s side.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” he says in a warm voice. He has one hand beside Joe’s on the handlebar, the other on his back, “go ahead and pick up your feet.” 

The bike wobbles as Joe gets his feet flat on the pedals, “Georgie,” he says. His voice is complaining but George knows he’s using the nickname to try and get his way.

“Not today, Toye. You’re gonna learn this before dinner, now.”

George pushes forward and Joe pedals slowly; it’s a snail’s pace but it’s something. Three pumps of the pedals and they have a good flow; George goes to take his hands off of Joe but–

“Don’t you dare, asshole!” Joe swerves a little bit.

Because George thinks he’s hilarious, he brings his hands up defensively, “Hey, I’m not the one who never learned how to ride a bike.”

Joe flounders, betrayed, and the bike swerves to the left and he falls on his side.

“Fuck!” collecting his limbs from where they’ve flailed out, Joe presses a thumb to the heel of his palm, “Look what you did!” He shows George the damage. It’s not bleeding, but it’s scraped up pretty good. George pulls him up by the hand and Joe winces at the sting. “Some teacher you are.”

“I taught five little Luz’s how to ride their bikes,” George dead-pans, rather unimpressed with Joe’s whining, “You, by far, have been my worst client.”

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who’ll blow you if we can stop this.”

“Tempting, but nah.” George rights the bike, silently commanding Joe back on. It’s not really that surprising that Joe obeys. It’s George’s worst-kept secret that he’s got this boy under his thumb. 

“Okay,” George says, replacing his hands at the handlebar and Joe’s back, “this time, we’ll get up to speed and _I promise_ I’ll tell you before I let go.”

“Fine.” 

It’s hard not to grin when Joe is petulant like this, but somehow George manages. Joe starts to pedal and finds his balance faster than the time before. With a few more cycles, he’s going almost too fast for George to keep up.

“Alright,” he says, “I’m gonna let go now, okay?”

Joe says, “Okay.” and only sounds a little nervous. 

George let’s go… and Joe doesn’t immediately die. He keeps peddling and makes it to the end of the street.

“Yo, there you go, Joey!” George calls with his hands cupping his mouth. He gives a wolf-whistle for good measure. 

Joe turns and starts coming back toward him; he’s still a little shaky but he doesn’t fall. 

“Brakes are by your hands,” George reminds him as Joe continues toward him. 

But Joe doesn’t stop.

“Idiot, brake–” still no stopping, “please!”

George runs to the ditch, trying desperately to get away, but Joe follows him. He pedals hard and doesn’t seem to give a shit that running George into the ditch will have him crash.

And that’s exactly what happens. 

Joe goes into the ditch and the front tire of the bike hits the trough, pushing the back end into the air and sending Joe crumpling into the dirt. He gets tangled up in George, who is smart enough to know that Joe isn’t stopping, and chases him as he scrambles up and around the side of the house. 

It all ends when Joe leaps forward and tackles George to the ground, arms wrapped around his waist.

“Shit!” George eats grass.

They end up on their asses, panting, and Joe is grinning like the asshole he is. 

“That’s for letting go.” He says on a heavy breath.

George scoots himself backward so he can lean against the side of the house, tosses his cap onto the ground and pushes a hand through his hair. Joe stands and takes a few sloppy, tired steps and stands with his feet on either side of George’s legs. George looks up at him and starts running his hands up the back of his calves. 

“The tackle was overkill,” George complains.

Joe shrugs, gives him a considering frown. “Are we done yet?” he says.

“Depends,” a sly smile creeps onto his face, “you wanna blow me or not?”

Joe bites his lip, trying and failing to hide his smile as he looks over his shoulder. He plops down on his knees, straddling George’s lap.

“You’re a brat.” He says, but he still takes George’s face in his hands and kisses him slowly.

Back here, they’re blocked from the view of the street, so George doesn’t mind helping Joe peel off his sweatshirt and giving sweet kisses to his neck. 

He’s got on a gray muscle shirt, one Joe cut the sleeves off of himself. 

“I ever tell you how nice your arms are?” George asks, running his hands up the length of them.

“You may have said something,” Joe quips and George loves the way he’s beaming down at him.

“Well, they’re very nice.” 

Last fall, Joe punched Cobb in the mouth in the school parking lot for calling Albert Blithe a faggot. He was suspended for two weeks and his parents, deciding he should find an outlet for his anger, signed him up for boxing. Since then he’s gotten nicely toned, not that George was complaining before.

Being suspended had given them plenty of time for George to skip school and reward Joe for his just efforts. Now he’s thinking of rewarding him for his efforts today, even if he did literally run him off the road. 

Joe slips his hands under George’s t-shirt to touch his stomach and then his back, pulling him close. He dips his head to press his face into George’s neck and kiss him behind his ear. George happily threads his fingers through Joe’s hair, shorter than it has been in a while, since his back-to-school haircut. He loves Joe’s hair, it’s thick and curls if he lets it grow long enough. He could spend hours playing with Joe’s longer, summer hair. 

At his collar now, Joe nips at him, smoothing it over with his tongue. George can’t help but giggle because Joe might be a mean motherfucker, but he’s pretty easy to distract once he’s tamed.

“Hey,” he says, pulling at his shirt to get Joe to look at him. He does, but looks a little put out at having to stop, “I have a bedroom. With a lock.” George grabs his cap from where it lies on the ground and places it on Joe’s head, backwards of course. He takes Joe's hands and brings them to his mouth, kissing the scrapes on his palms.

Joe hums and he kisses George and grinds into his lap. Yeah, a bedroom sounds nice right about now. 

“Come on, Joey.” George says under his breath, kissing Joe’s cheek once. 

They get up, holding hands as they walk around the house and through the front door. They leave the skateboard and bike in the ditch; they’ll get them later. 


End file.
